An Impossibility
by crypticnotions
Summary: Abbie Mills is an impossibility in his time.


Copied and Pasted from my Tumblr account.

This is a little more serious Abbie/Ichabod from me. Hope you enjoy.

* * *

Sometimes he forgets he is in this time, this time with the moving metal boxes, the professional coffee places every two blocks and guns that do not need to be reloaded after each shot. Sometimes he gasps awake bleary eyed and stiff and has to count to ten so that the emotions of being over two hundred years out of place do not overwhelm him. At times, he aches for that restless past because he knew his place there. Here he sometimes drifts into the cracks of spaces.

Then he remembers. He sees Abbie in her uniform, strapping on her holster, adjusting her hair, quirking her lips and eyebrow and thinks back to his time. She is an impossibility in his time. She is part of his personal triumph.

He was an abolitionist. He personally passed out Paine's* article "African Slavery in America." He waited out a freezing night in jail after interfering in a slave punishment. He openly listened to slaves telling their stories and wished them well in their continued fight for freedom. He cringed each time a slave was summoned to do some menial task.

When Abbie told him the institution of slavery was abolished, he'd felt his soul rejoice. For as lovely as America was in her infancy*, slavery was a scourge on the land. Even his beloved George Washington, a man he'd fought and ultimately died for, was inflicted with the disease of owning other human beings.

Still, he struggles in this time. Just last week, Abbie pulled him away from confronting a White man kissing a Black woman.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her mouth twisted in confusion.

He dropped the lapel of the man and looked at her. "He is not coercing her?" His eyebrows knitted together, matching her look.

"What? No. No, that's Mr. and Mrs. Duval. They own the bakery on Main Street."

He looked at Mr. Duval then. The balding man adjusted his glasses and cowered close to his wife, clutching the woman's hand tightly.

"Please accept my sincere apology, Sir," Ichabod offered.

He stood next to Abbie as the Duvals scurried to their car. Mr. Duval looked over his shoulder, adjusted his glasses again and pealed out of the parking lot.

"What was that about?" she asked. Her hand rested on her holster, but she didn't look at him.

"I just thought," he paused, "In my time, where I am from, their relationship is not legal and it is for certain not equal. When people of each of their stature come together, it does not benefit the lady."

She looked at him. "This is hard for you, isn't it?"

He inhaled. "It is one thing to fight for something, but another to know it is accomplished without you seeing the end. Your revolutions are confusing sometimes. I am glad for them though."

Her eyes softened and she nodded toward the car. "You ready?"

"Yes," he replied.

This morning he clutches his chest. The blur of pain and flashes of Katrina line his vision. The dream of blood and mutilated bodies and war and that hot blade slicing through his skin is vivid.

"3…4…5…," he takes a deep breath and continues until he is sure that opening his eyes won't cause his heart to race.

He shifts his bare feet to the ground. He knows by the lingering smell of coffee and burnt toast that Abbie is half way to the precinct now. A fierce yawn flows through him and then he stretches, his muscles heading heavenward in awkward angles.

He wanders to the kitchen. Abbie leaves brightly colored square shaped notes on things she knows he still wrangles with. On the table, next to the cooling stove, is a stack of books. A pink square denotes "For Ichabod" in her cursive script. He removes the note and glances at the thick book on top. "Loving V. Virginia" is written on the outside and he examines the cover, sees the man and woman staring back at him. His lip twitches upwards and he remembers. Abbie might be an impossibility in his time, but she's just perfect for this one.

* * *

First asterisk: People debate whether Paine wrote "African Slavery in America". However, there are still collections bearing his name that contain this piece.

Second asterisk: I say "infancy" as in America as we know it. Clearly, Columbus did not discover America as people were already living here for many, many generations previously.


End file.
